


Dum spiro, spero

by NotPersephone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Brief Reunion, F/M, Missing Scene, bedannibalprompts, red dragon arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-21 13:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12458523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: The message was short, the tone composed, but Bedelia heard traces of nervousness in the voice. It was a woman’s voice; Dr Alana Bloom, the new head of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, was requesting to meet with her.





	Dum spiro, spero

**Author's Note:**

  * For [awayfromsight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/awayfromsight/gifts).



She let the message go to voicemail, as she did with most of the calls nowadays. Since her lecture tour, she was no longer a private person. Having her number restricted did not stop various tabloid journalists from obtaining it. There were also a few peculiar calls from women interested in Hannibal in a "romantic" way and _dying_ to know what it was like being married to him. The messages evoked a blend of professional interest and unforeseen melancholy in Bedelia. _If they only knew_.

The message was short, the tone composed, but Bedelia heard traces of nervousness in the voice. It was a woman’s voice; Dr Alana Bloom, the new head of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, was requesting to meet with her.

In a way, Bedelia had anticipated the enquiry, but still did not know what to expect from the meeting. It was not surprising that the person in charge of the hospital would want to reach out to her; the previous one had attempted to make contact with her on numerous occasions.

After publishing one book, Dr Chilton was in search of a suitable material for a follow up. He left her several messages and emails, a failed attempt of professionalism bordering on awkward flirting. They were a source of brief amusement which quickly turned to annoyance. But a week after his attempts, Hannibal published an article discrediting his book and the phone calls stopped. Bedelia smiled remembering what a pleasure it was to read the paper; Hannibal Lecter had not lost his sharp and brilliant mind.

Whatever Dr Bloom wanted to discuss with her was unlikely to be of a similar nature, but was no doubt guided by _curiosity_.

Bedelia left a reply with her assistant, confirming her visit tomorrow. She was in need of an interesting distraction, even if it placed her in the same building as _him_.

 

The car stopped in front of the impressive block of a building and Bedelia got out, her heals sinking into the gravel driveway. She straightened her navy skirt and jacket, tossing her locks back as though she was about to step on the podium and give a lecture and, in a way, she was. Every conversation she had inevitably led to one subject, every reply she gave felt like a performance. One she rehearsed and perfected over the last years, yet there was little challenge in it. Bedelia missed the thrill of the unknown; it was a side effect she did not bargained for.

Her eyes rested on the building she had visited once before; to see for herself the object of Hannibal’s newest vanity project. She was underwhelmed then and knew whatever Hannibal wanted with Will Graham, it would never come to pass. The only outcome that could follow was his own undoing. Sadly, she was right.

Her gaze moved along the walls and windows staring back at her in a vacant obedience. There was no manifestation of his close presence, no shift in the air, no ripple within her mind; she could not discern him.

She wondered if he could somehow sense her.

Still, Bedelia did not hesitate, no emotions resurfaced; staring straight ahead, she walked towards the main door.

 

“Good morning, Doctor Du Maurier,” to Bedelia’s surprise the woman welcomed her at the door.

Bedelia had remembered meeting Dr Bloom once, but the woman in front of her was nothing like the one she saw back then. A black Armani pantsuit, hair pinned to the side, red lipstick, stilettos and a firm stance, all of which was out of place in this kind of institution. It also seemed to run counter to the woman who was wearing it. Bedelia read the reports of the faith that beheld all those unfortunate enough to cross Hannibal’s path on the night he showed his true hand. But Hannibal had never mentioned her. Bedelia wondered how would she feel about that.

“Thank you for coming in,” Dr Bloom shook her hand, her grip matching her stance and showed her in.

Her office was located on the ground floor, much larger than the one of the previous chief psychiatrist. Dr Bloom’s new-found penchant for luxury must have translated into the workplace, Bedelia thought, recalling news of her fortuitous nuptial.

She gestured to the chair in front of her desk and Bedelia sat down, observing quietly and waiting for her to speak first. Dr Bloom offered her a refreshment, but Bedelia politely declined. The woman was stalling for time, Bedelia could tell by her reluctance to face her.

“I appreciate you responding so swiftly,” she finally took her seat behind the desk and addressed the issue, “I know it must not be easy for you.”

Bedelia said nothing, simply looking back at her. She had heard that phrase too many times to count and knew that people did not need a reaction from her; they wanted to feel better about themselves by doing their part in acknowledging her _misfortune._

Dr Bloom’s fingers moved restlessly against the polished mahogany counter, she did not appear to be as collected as her image indicated. Bedelia was not convinced by the woman’s transformation. It was almost as if she was playing dress up and pretending to be someone else. It was easier to hide the harm and distract other people with a brand new, flashy cover. But a new coat of paint would not hold if the previous one was flaying underneath it.

“It is an unfortunate situation,” she continued when Bedelia made no attempt to respond to her remark, “Something that was overlooked by previous _management_.”

Her tone indicated that her opinion of Dr Chilton was similar to Bedelia’s who suppressed a smile forming on her lips.

“You were listed as Hannibal Lecter’s emergency contact,” she cleared her throat and attempted to keep her eyes fixed on Bedelia, “It was never changed when he was admitted here.”

Silence descended, filling the space with apparent tension. Bedelia was taken by surprise for the first time in a very long time. Whatever she had considered would happen, this scenario had never crossed her mind.

“Of course, we will rectify this immediately,” Dr Bloom added with certain nervousness when Bedelia remained silent.

Sudden realization washed over Bedelia; there would only be one reason the omission was noticed at present.

“What happened to him?” she asked without preamble and to her relief, the tone of her voice was controlled and steady, as always, despite of the swelling building up in the back of her mouth.

“An infection of an unknown origin,” Alana could tell from Bedelia’s gaze that it was better to be direct about it, “We didn’t know how real or serious it was until it progressed to sepsis.”

Bedelia wondered how much time had passed before he was taken into care. The lump in her throat became larger.

“Had he ever tried to simulate an illness or anything of a similar nature?” she asked, her eyes gleaming like shards of blue ice.

“No,” Alana replied, fighting the urge to avert her gaze.

“Then why did you assume he was faking it?” Bedelia pursued, more sharply than she intended. Another surge of silence infused the air.

“He was taken to the infirmary wing,” Alana continued after the heavy pause, “He is in a stable condition now.”

There was certain, unforeseen relief in her voice. Remnants of her former self and her compassion lingered in the seams of her couture armour. Or perhaps she was aware enough to know that Hannibal’s death would not bring her a peace of mind. He planted the seeds, but the damage grew on its own, rooted deeply within her.

“According to the procedure, we were required to contact the in case of emergency person,” her voice trailed off as the uncomfortable nature of their meeting came to light once more.

“I would like to see him,” Bedelia said unexpectedly and the woman looked at her in bewilderment. It must have been the last thing she expected. It was the last thing Bedelia expected, but the words poured out of her before she could reconsider. A deeply hidden part of her, one she attempted to silence for the last years, had awaken with a start.

“Since I was called in, it is only logical that I made sure he is all right,” she pressed on, appealing to the legal point of the situation. Dr Bloom seemed to be keen on that aspect, somehow ironic, since her appointment here was barely fulfilling it, considering her former relationship with Hannibal.

The woman stared at her, assessing the request and its implications. Bedelia’s hands rested on her knee as she smoothed the cress on her skirt, ignoring the quiver in her chest.

“All right,” Dr Bloom stood up, speaking at last, still hesitant, but determined to put this unfortunate episode behind her as soon as possible. She handed Bedelia a security pass and walked towards the corridor. Bedelia followed, only now noticing a slight limp in Alana’s leg, one she was trying to conceal by her posture and confident steps, but it was still there. Some scars were harder to hide than others.

“Am I to understand that the place is under new management or do I need to consult my lawyer?” Bedelia demanded when they stopped before the first set of locked doors.

“There are no cameras in the infirmary wing. I do not approve of Dr Chilton’s methods,” Alana stated firmly, “His obsessions did not end well for him.”

The fate had dealt Dr Bloom only a slightly better hand, by a stroke of luck, if you believed such things. Bedelia didn’t, but she kept her thoughts to herself, staying silent as the door opened and closed behind them.

Their footsteps echoed on the high ceiling of the empty corridor; bare, grey walls reflected the grim nature of the institution. They walked in silence and no other noise disturbed the stillness except for the reverberating sound of the stilettos, accompanying them as if they were the only residents in the building.

“He had never discussed you,” Dr Bloom said suddenly and Bedelia turned her head to look at her, “Beyond confirming your story that is. He refused to answer any further questions, just sat quietly, lost in his thoughts.” She tilted her head in silent contemplation and Bedelia knew this woman would never be able to understand him.

They passed another set of doors. The surroundings changed to more clinical ones, white walls and fluorescent lights that grew brighter. It emphasised the sensation that the entire occurrence was nothing more than a hallucination.

“I have seen your lecture,” Alana continued, a certain hesitation in her voice. Bedelia thought that much. Victims searched for connection with other victims.

“Hannibal requested to see it,” she added as though trying to justify herself, “It is required for us to review all of the material he has access too.”

They stopped in front of a plain white doors, one of many on this corridor.

“He’s in here,” Dr Bloom announced and knocked on the door.

“I would like to see him alone,” Bedelia stated.

“Of course,” the woman continued to stare at Bedelia, searching for a confirmation of some kind, a _bond._ Out of all Hannibal’s pawns, she seemed the only one who really wanted to believe her.

“You had feelings for him,” Bedelia concluded, holding her gaze and reading her reaction, “But you could not have accepted the creature behind the mask.” The raw truth of Bedelia’s words took Alana aback, the light of hope in her eyes dimmed at once.

“It must have been terrible,” Bedelia pressed on, watching the woman’s gaze became bright again, “For Hannibal.”

The light vanished without a trace and Dr Bloom said nothing. The door finally opened and Bedelia entered the room.

 

As the door closed behind her, she took in the surroundings; a small windowless hospital room, stripped to the bare necessities. A single bed stood in the centre, but Bedelia did not allow herself to linger on it and instead she turned her attention to the guard who let her in.

“Leave us,” she demanded, her stern gaze allowing no objections.

“I don’t know if it’s allowed,” the young man looked away as if embarrassed to utter this response.

“Dr Bloom is standing outside if you would like to clarify it,” her tone of voice had put many self-important men in their place, a humble security officer stood no chance.

She sensed his hesitation, but he merely nodded his head and left. Bedelia’s eyes were fixed on the wall to her left until she heard the sound of the door closing.

With a deep inhale, she slowly turned her head and looked at the bed.

Hannibal Lecter was resting on top of it; his hands were handcuffed to the frame. He looked pale and lost much weight since she last saw him. It was a painful view, seeing him caged and weak, one that caused a sharp pang in her heart. She had never expected she would feel this way. Then again, she had never expected any of the emotions she experienced with him.

To her relief, he was asleep. Still, Bedelia stood there, rooted to the spot, staring at him and unable to move.

Suddenly his eyes sprang open and Bedelia’s breath hitched.

“Bedelia?” his voice was hoarse from disuse, but the familiar baritone made her heart flutter hard against her rib cage. The way he spoke her name always made her shiver.

“Is that really you?” his eyes opened wider now, a smile pulled at his mouth slowly as if it was something he had forgotten how to do.

“Hello, Hannibal,” it was all she managed to say.

“I had a dream that you came,” he stared at her, still unsure whether she was here or whether she was a figment of his subconscious.

He must still be feverish, Bedelia concluded, her hand almost reaching out to check his temperature, but she had stopped herself at once. Instead, she moved towards the foot of the bed and took his chart. She flipped through the pages, not really taking in what she had read, but it felt reassuring to focus on something.

“I was called in on account of being listed as your emergency contact,” she explained, her eyes remaining on the sheet of paper in her hands.

“What a fortunate incident then,” he responded and something close to a chuckle escaped his lips.

Bedelia looked up at him then, irked by his usual bravado that had not been tempered by his confinement.

“This is more than an incident,” she knew her tone was infused with worry, but she could not stop it.

“The only thing that matters is that it got you here,” he was fully awake now, his eyes anchored on her presence, taking in every bit of her, down to the tiniest speck.

The searing intensity of his gaze warmed her, something she remembered so well but had never thought she would experience again. She placed the chart back in its holder, not sure how to proceed.

“You look so beautiful,” he spoke suddenly, “I dream about you all the time, but the image in my mind pales in comparison to you.”

She glimpsed at him once more, lips pursed, exasperation rising within her anew, silencing the intense beating of her heart.

“I wanted to make sure you were all right,” she attempted to sound aloof, but to no avail, “I see you are recovering. There is no need for me to be here.”

She turned away and began walking towards the door when his voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Do you ever think about Florence? Do you ever think about _us_?”

Bedelia’s thoughts drifted to all the sleepless nights in her cold bed when she tried to put the memories of his warm embrace and their intimate moments together behind her, yet it only made them stronger. The lump in her mouth turned to bile; she tasted bitterness and anger.

Turning back abruptly, she looked at him, her eyes gas lit flames; too many thoughts howling in her mind, too many words wanting to break free from her lips.

“Were you happy?” the question leaped forward, her tone was harsh and heated, “In Florence? With _me_?”

The part of her that had risen from its forced slumber wanted to scream. She pondered this ad infinitum in the long hours of the night when she stared blankly into the black space, finding no answers and no solace. This darkness was empty and suffocating; she longed for the golden radiance of the one that awaited behind his veil. It was only a year, but it felt like a lifetime to her.

She continued to stare at him, her breathing still ragged, waiting.

Hannibal looked away, trying to find the right answer. If there was any. Bedelia felt suddenly exposed; the anger was burning out leaving the ashes of regret.

“Happiness is a laboured concept. I do not think I had ever considered myself happy,” he started off slowly as though still searching for the appropriate words, “Until we escaped together. I finally understood what happiness is.”

Bedelia said nothing, but her chest grew tighter as a new wave of emotions flooded her heart and made it swell.

“The moment I left you, all the light had disappeared from my life,” he continued and every word was a heartfelt truth, “You took me to places where no one else could. I have been yearning for that feeling, for _you_ , ever since.”

His voice broke off and Bedelia stood speechless, swallowing back the tears.

She stepped forward unexpectedly, her body taking control and her legs carrying her on their own while her mind was still coming to terms with all that had passed. She stopped by the bed, her knees almost grazing its edge. Her hand reached out timidly, unsure but guided by memories. The fingers brushed his hand, slowly at first, calling to mind the paths of his skin, before intertwining with his. He returned the gesture at once, holding her hand firmly and his touch was as good as she remembered, warm and tender.

He felt like home.

He moved his fingers, as much as the restrains allowed him to, savouring the lost pleasure of her skin against his. His thumb traced her ring finger, as he had done countless times in Florence. The finger was bare now, but his touch brought back the sensation of cool metal on her skin. The wedding ring was tucked away safely in her bedside drawer. She could never part with it.

Her gaze paused on his eyes, wanting to remember him as much as he wanted to memorise her. She yearned for the taste of his lips, craving more than just the feel of his skin. He looked back at her with painful longing in his eyes, mirroring her own desire.

“Hannibal, I can’t,” she whispered, not because she was afraid someone would hear, but because she felt her voice would crack under the weight of the sentiments.

“I know,” he replied softly and she saw his eyes becoming glossy with tears.

She did not know how long she could subdue her own. Her hand reluctantly left his and she turned again, now much heavier steps leading her away.

“We will reclaim our paradise. You and I,” he called after her.

“You cannot promise that,” her voice was breaking now, and she needed to leave before she forsook the remainder of her composure.

“Yes, I can,” he insisted, his own voice sounding stronger, like he was himself again, “You know I always keep my promises.”

Bedelia steadied her hand as she reached for the doorknob, afraid if she looked at him one more time, she would shatter to pieces and would never be able to put herself together again.

Her self-control returned slowly on the way back, but her mind was still clouded. She returned the security pass and signed a form that she did not even read. Luckily, Dr Bloom had no intention to engage her in further conversation.

The haze only cleared when she returned to her car and put the hospital in the rear-view mirror.

 

Hope is nothing but an illusion, Bedelia told herself. Yet that night, when her head sank into the softness of her pillow, she no longer thought about the last time Hannibal held her in his arms. Instead she looked forward to the time when he would hold her again.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a quote by Cicero: "While I breathe, I hope". The unofficial subtitle is "I ♥ Lena" - thank you for the prompt! :D  
> There is something about the way Mads say "Bedelia" that makes me weak.  
> Bedelia having trouble sleeping after Florence/ Bedelia keeping the ring are headcanons I have a soft spot for and have mentioned before.  
> As always, feedback is love; if you like it, let me know and keep me writing.


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